


Marked

by coveredbyroses



Series: 2019 SPN Kink Bingo [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Choking, F/M, Marking, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 03:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18461012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: The Mark of Cain is taking its toll on Dean…





	Marked

You know the hunt was bad by the way they drag themselves down the bunker’s stairs; shoulders slumped, eyes tired. Sam doesn’t even answer your  _hey_ , just tries a smile and heads for bed. Dean thunks his duffle on the library table where you’re sitting, feet propped on polished mahogany, lore book against your angled thighs. You dog-ear the page on ancient curses - not that you’ll find what you’re looking for.

Dean’s getting worse by the day; the effects of the Mark show in his sunken, dulling eyes, in the tired slope of his shoulders. He barely sleeps, his nights spent thrashing his way through nightmares of the loved ones he’s lost; of the people he’s failed. He rarely smiles anymore - when he does, it never reaches his eyes. Some days he puts on the mask, but it’s painfully transparent, not worth the effort.

But most concerning is his violent, unpredictable recklessness. There’s a terrifying darkness in him that you know bleeds from the curse branded into his arm. It’s only a matter of time until he takes another blade to the chest, or a bullet to the head.

It’s only a matter of time until his eyes turn black again.

“Find anything?” Dean asks, hands braced on the wooden back of the chair across from you.

“Uh, no,” you admit, closing the book and setting it on the table. You rake a hand through your hair, and give him a soft smile. “We’ll find something. We will.”

Dean grunts, drums his fingers against the glossy wood, and hangs his head.

“How bad?” you ask after a long silence; voice careful.

“Cleaned out the nest,” he says, bringing his eyes to yours. “But, uh, they turned this girl…this  _kid_. Couldn’t have been more’n sixteen.”

“You did what you had to-”

Dean shakes his head, chews at his lip. “I swung that goddamned machete without a fuckin’ thought - and I could feel it…I could feel the Mark fuckin’  _sing._ ” He straightens, scrubs a hand down his face. “I killed a kid…and it - it felt  _good._ ”

Oh, god.

“No.” Your head shakes fervently. “No, you saved a kid from something terrible.  _That’s_  what felt good.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Dean jerks the red flannel of his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing the pulsing glow of the curse burning hot against his forearm.

It’s still thirsty. It wants more.

“I need….I need to…”

He looks at you then, the sharp hinge of his jaw working underneath stubbled skin, and his eyes spark with something wild and  _hungry._

Dean doesn’t have to say anything, you _know._  You know the look and what it means, so with a scrape of wood against wood, you bolt from your chair and head toward the tiled hallway.

*

You’re naked in a matter of seconds, stretched out underneath him as he mouths at the meaty slope of your neck and shoulder.

This has been a regular thing since Dean had taken on the Mark. Though it hungered for blood, for death, it sometimes tended to burn long after a fight, enlivened with pumping adrenaline. So, the two of you had taken to fucking through it, until exhaustion cooled the searing heat of the thing.

Strong hands pin your wrists to the mattress as you undulate underneath him, desperate for friction. You tighten up when blunt teeth latch onto the damp flesh, hips lurching up at the pleasurable pain of the bite. He moves to the other side, scratchy-soft lips brushing across the dip of your throat. You let your head loll to grant him easy access, moaning deep as he licks and nips at you.

He’s dragging his teeth down the column of your throat now, fingers tightening and shifting around your wrists. “You like that, huh?” he rumbles, and god, his gravelly baritone hits you right between the thighs. “Want me to mark ya all up?”

You worry at your lip when he drags his teeth up over the swell of of your left breast, then swirls his hot tongue over the nipple. “Please,” you breathe, fire licking at your belly, your own slick soaking the sheets beneath you. “Please,  _yeah_ \- do that.” You feel the self-satisfied smile when he closes his teeth around around the sensitive flesh, just hard enough to send fresh arousal bursting inside you.

He pulls up to his knees to lose his shirts, and you can still feel the ghost of his grip around your wrists that still lay either side of your head. He drops back down, solid, warm chest pressed against yours to lick into your mouth, hot and deep. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, tugs at it before breaking the kiss to nip at your shoulders.

“Please, Dean,” you whimper, voice tiny. “I need - need you-”

His lips fall back on yours as he shoves his pants down, hard knuckles knocking against your inner thighs as pulls his cock free. He lifts his head, lips shining as he gets down on a forearm, free hand working himself into you. He’s barely an inch in before he suddenly  _snaps_  his hips, burying himself inside, root-deep. You cry out into his mouth as he groans into yours, blunt nails clawing at his back as he starts to thrust.

He doesn’t waste time easing you into it, just starts a fierce, rapid pace as he drops his head to bite at your jaw, throat, and chest. His teeth land all over as he pumps in deep - and the pain, the dominance - it’s all so  _exquisite_ , the way he uses you to fuck his own pain away.

His breaths are heavy, and desperate little grunts punch from deep in his chest as his thrusts quicken. He jams a hand between you, thumb strumming over your swollen clit, cranking the pleasure higher and higher. You feel yourself clenching up with every swipe, every plunge-

Dean’s hand moves up to your throat, fingers tightening as he pants against your lips. “You’re about to fuckin’ pop, huh?”

“Please-” you manage, strangled under the squeeze of his fingers. You lift your legs, lock your ankles at his back, and fuck - the change of angle has you seeing  _stars._

Old bed springs creak with Dean’s frenzied movements, and all you can do is anchor yourself to him as your airways constrict, and your cunt tenses as you careen toward the edge.

“Fuck!  _Dean_ -” You fall at the exact moment he releases your throat to clamp his teeth down on the meat of your neck, just underneath your ear. He ups the pace as you writhe and flutter around him, fucking you hard through your orgasm, pulling wave after wave of  _overwhelming_  pleasure from you.

His mouth is still on your neck, hot breath pulsing as his hips start to stutter. You tighten your legs around his sweat-slick back, locking him against you as he gasps out your name, then goes still and tight, shaking as he spills into you.

You both groan as he pulls out, damp and chests heaving. Neither of you speak as he pulls you against him, runs a soothing hand up down your arm as your breathing settles. The bite marks start to sting as your skin cools, but you wear them proudly.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles into the top of your head as sleep begins to pull at his eyelids.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Dean,” you say after a beat. “I promise.”

His soft snores tell you that he hadn’t heard the lie.


End file.
